


Safety Lines

by BellatrixDraven



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:37:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5536751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellatrixDraven/pseuds/BellatrixDraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: "I never saw you this way, but my friend made out with you when drunk, and they won't stop talking about how great it was, and now I can't stop staring at your mouth, how the hell are you so sexy?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety Lines

It's not like Mycroft Holmes ever has time to worry about relationships, or Christmas, or heaven forbid, a combination of the two. If anything, he'd much rather forget the whole thing existed and was quiet happy to lock himself in an office and think all day. Let other people worry about presents and mistletoe and dealing with people after sobering up.  
"Sir, is there anything else I can do for you?" Anthea stood in the doorway, hand still glued to her phone. Mycroft wasn't always sure what she was doing with it, but he didn't really consider it his business to find out. After all, there had to be at least one person who remained a mystery to him.  
"No Anthea, you can go home. Have a good Christmas."  
"I'll try, but I'll be back in tomorrow. It's only the twenty-third." She was smiling though, as she turned away.  
"You can take the next few days off, it's quite alright."  
"And do what sir? Get drunk and make out with random men in bars? I don't think so, I'd much rather be here." She laughed as she left, her heels clicking on the floor. Mycroft watched her leave, not quite puzzled but definitely intrigued by her answer. It was true, Anthea wasn't what most people found alluring and attractive, at least that's how she said it. But she was clever and funny, and she had gone undercover for him before. He remembered once she had gone undercover for three months to find a woman related to Moriarty, and had come back with more information than they had arranged for. She solved puzzles unlike anyone else Mycroft had ever seen, with humor and practicality.  
It wasn't his job to worry about her though. She would do whatever it was she wanted, she was like a cat in that regards. She would listen to her superiors, but only when it was absolutely critical. Otherwise, she'd pace hallways, be distracted by lights, or doing her own thing without consequences.  
-  
"Hello," Anthea looked up from her phone to stare at the man beside her. He was attractive, she decided, if a bit plain.  
"Hello."  
"Can I buy you a drink?"  
"What do I have to do in return?" She turned the phone off and looked at him evenly. Something about him seemed familiar, maybe she had seen him at crime scenes with Sherlock. Maybe he was in John Watson's file.  
"I don't know, talk to me?" He seemed nervous, or maybe he was just stumbling over his words because he was mildly drunk. Not drunk enough to cause a ruckus, but enough that he was lowering standards.  
"What's your name?"  
"What do you want to call me?" He was definitely a little more drunk than anticipated, but he wasn't handsy.  
"I'll call you..." She narrowed her eyes, thinking. "I think Greg suits you."  
"Lucky you, that's my name. What's yours?"  
"Anthea." She waved at the bartender. "A drink for me and my friend here please." She turned back to Greg, and decided to let down her worries for the night. "I'll talk to you, as long as you like."  
Before long one drink had turned to four, and they were in a corner now, talking about their jobs. He was a police officer, mostly drowning in paperwork. He liked sports, traveling and old newspapers to study. He was occasionally smart enough, he said, to solve the crosswords and riddles. She told him that she was a government worker, often doing paperwork and rearranging resources. It was comfortable talking to him, she didn't feel the need to be so guarded with him. Eventually the conversation stopped, and they were sitting quite close to one another, in fact she was practically laying on him, resting on his shoulder. He was warm, and maybe she was just trying to find a reason to keep him close, but after a moment she leaned up to look at him as he said her name.  
"Anthea, it's been lovely, but we should probably be heading home. It's almost two in the morning."  
"How come the bar hasn't kicked us out?"  
"They're trying, we've got fifteen minutes to clean up and go. Come on, I've got your phone and wallet."  
"Don't want to go." She buries her head in his sweater. It's so warm and safe, and he smelled so good, and she doesn't want to leave. When she walks out of the bar, anything that happened will be done. Greg won't remember her, and nothing will matter about their drinks and conversation, this will only be a memory.  
"Come on Anthea, I'll share the cab with you." He helps her stand and they leave the bar, out into the cold wind. Somewhere down the street there's carols playing and it smells like spilled liquor and it's not at all ideal. Anthea holds onto Greg's hand, staring out into the street, thinking before turning to him quickly and she's not thinking, there's no defense for it. She kisses him, holding him closely, and it's warm and nice and it feels nice. One of his hands twines in her hair, and it feels so right. It's over too quickly as Greg pulls away, staring at her for a moment.  
"Sorry."  
"No, I shouldn't have done that-"  
"No it was nice. Can I see you again?"  
"Don't count on it, we met by chance." She smiles but reaches up to kiss him again, and this one's longer. Nicer. It means more to her than the first one, and then she pulls away this time, before pulling her coat collar up and walking down the street. She doesn't look back, just lets him stand there in a loss.  
-  
"Anthea, are you alright?"  
"Just a little hungover, I'm sorry." She looks at Mycroft for a moment.  
"Speak Anthea, I don't read minds."  
"I'm sorry sir." She hesitates again before throwing caution to the wind. "Sir, have you ever made a decision you regret, even though it's just a passing moment?"  
"I'm not sure I understand." Mycroft looks up from his paperwork, eyebrows knit together. "But I think you need to talk, so sit down. Avoid the paperwork, it's Christmas after all." Anthea sits opposite from him, her stomach filled with butterflies.  
"Last night I was out, I met someone. I let my guard down for a while, enough to talk to him. I felt comfortable with him. The first time I trusted anyone in a long time sir." Her words feel heavy, but it helps to talk. So she lets it happen, spilling out faster than she can think. "And he was so kind, warm and nice, and he cared. We didn't do anything though, don't worry about it." She reassures Mycroft quickly, watching his eyebrows rise quickly. "I only kissed him at the end of the night, and then I left."  
"How was that experience? Or is that what you regret?" Mycroft is surprisingly gentle.  
"I think it was fantastic. It was the closest I felt to anyone in a long time. I felt like I could be friends with him. But nothing more, that kiss was a one time incident. I wish I could see him again though, just to remain his friend."  
"Who was it?"  
"I'm not sure, only his name was Greg. He had silvery hair and he was a police officer. You'd like him. He was a good man." Anthea sighs before starting to stand. "I'll leave now sir, I'm sorry I intruded."  
"Nonsense, you never intrude. You don't have to leave."  
Anthea hesitates and then sits again. "Can I ask a personal question, sir?"  
"I suppose," Mycroft looks up with a wry sort of a smile.  
"Have you ever kissed someone and it felt so right, and you wanted only to be with them forever?"  
"Can't say that I have."  
"I think Greg would give you that." At with that Anthea gets up and actually leaves, her shoes clicking slightly on the floor, her hair moving over her shoulders as she thinks.  
-  
"Mycroft, I've got a Detective Lestrade to see you." Anthea buzzes in to the office, it's the day after Christmas. Mycroft is just the tiniest bit hungover, eyes still burning from last night's run  
"What's he here for?" Maybe he sounds too gruff, but Anthea picks up the receiver to talk.  
"He says it's a request for aid. He's the one I met on Christmas eve."  
"You think this is worth while?"  
"I'd recommend him sir, but that's just because he had a nice conversation with me."  
"I trust you, so by extension, I trust him. Send him in." Mycroft waits, resting his head on his hand. He's tired and he's cold and he's just gotten another notice about Sherlock being impulsive, he was going to kill him.  
"I'm sorry, are you Mycroft Holmes?"  
"Yes, I am, what can I do for you?" Mycroft looks up, and wow, that's an attractive man.  
"I was wondering if you knew Sherlock?"  
"Unfortunately. He's my brother." Mycroft smiles, and his gaze rests on Lestrade's mouth. It does look nice.  
"Oh, of course. Well, he's managed to get himself arrested for something. I'm not allowed particulars, but he said you'd bail him out if necessary. What is it you do exactly?" Lestrade sounds even more exhausted than Mycroft feels.  
"Just the usual business, following orders and organizing things for my department. I'll have him out shortly, I'm very sorry for whatever it is he's done." Mycroft can't stop staring at Lestrade's mouth, it looks like it would offer a reassuring kiss.  
"Have I got something on my face? I know I cut myself a little this morning, am I bleeding again?" Lestrade touches his chin nervously.  
"Not at all, I do apologize, I'm just staring off into space a bit. What's your first name Detective?"  
"Greg."  
"Greg. It suits you."  
"I've heard that before."  
"I heard you were here to request aid?"  
"Mostly just about Sherlock. I don't suppose though, you could save me from my ex-wife and the in-laws?" Lestrade says it laughing, albeit nervous. Clearly a man who made jokes to lighten the mood, he was too nervous to really be here.  
"I can arrange something, though it would probably have to be in-person." Mycroft replied before startling himself silent. Had he really just flirted back, with the Lestrade?  
"I think I can handle that, you can't be worse than her mother."  
"I'll try. When are you in need of rescue?"  
"New Year's Eve? I know a lot of people are busy, so I understand if you can't do it."  
"I'll be glad to that." Mycroft smiles again, much kinder this time. He actually wants to do this, even though there isn't really a reason for it. He makes a mental note not to judge Sherlock for taking in Dr Watson, maybe it just felt right.  
"Great, thanks, I don't know how I'll be able to repay you, but thank you so much." Lestrade grins back, twisting his hands together.  
"Don't worry about it. I'll meet you outside your precinct on New Year's Eve, about eight?"  
"Thank you, really, Mr Holmes."  
"Mycroft, please."  
"Mycroft. Right. Thank you again, I'll leave you alone now." And without waiting, Lestrade leaves, not quite running out of the office.  
-  
It's New Year's Eve, and Mycroft waits for Lestrade outside. He's holding a cigarette loosely, hoping the nicotine will do something to calm him. So far it's not really working but there's nothing to lose, it's not like Lestrade is going to judge him for the smell of cigarette smoke.  
"Sorry I'm late, I had a thing with my coworker, Donovan, she was asking questions and I'm really sorry." Lestrade looks absolutely frazzled.  
"I hope it was nothing major?"  
"Nothing really, it just happens. Last day of the year, there's always something that happens. Do you have an extra cigarette?"  
Mycroft hands one over, and a lighter without saying anything. They stand for a few minutes, just smoking and looking up at the sky, not looking at one another. Finally Mycroft turns back and speaks.  
"Why did you ask me to rescue you?"  
"My ex wife, well she's a wonderful person, but she gets irritated with me easily, guess I deserve it. I just didn't want to have that carrying into my new year. Thought maybe I could spend time with a new friend instead. Sorry, we're not really friends."  
"We can be, if you want to."  
"Didn't think the Holmes family was one for friends."  
"I can try. A New Year's resolution perhaps." Mycroft smiles a little.  
"I think that'd be nice." Lestrade tries to smile back. "Can I ask you a question?"  
"Feel free."  
"Why did you keep staring at me when we first met? I didn't miss it, you weren't spacing out."  
"I thought you were handsome, Anthea said you were."  
"I remember her a little bit, but I was rather drunk when we met. She seemed nice."  
"She recommends you. She's not overly fond of people, so that's high praise indeed." Mycroft crushes the cigarette under his shoe, not looking at Lestrade.  
"Is that why you chose her?"  
"What?"  
"For an employee, is it because she doesn't trust people easily?"  
"No, she's more than that. She was very qualified. She figures things out in different ways, she's useful." Mycroft isn't really one for words, so he stops as soon as possible.  
"I trust you with that."  
"High praise I'm sure." Mycroft says. He's not sure when they started walking, but they're currently standing under the eaves of a bar, loud music and shouting spilling out the doorway.  
"I'm not much for talking to Holmes', they tend to scare me and be rude the moment I stop talking."  
"You've got me fairly pegged, can't argue with that."  
"Fucking hell, I'm trying though. I'm trying, more than it seems you are Mycroft." Lestrade says it quickly, before covering his mouth, horrified. "God, I'm sorry,"  
"I understand." Mycroft says simply. He's resumed his staring at Lestrade's mouth, wondering how it says things to make people laugh and hurt and still make them feel safe. Perhaps it comes with being a father.  
"You're staring again."  
"Sorry."  
"No you're not." Lestrade sighs, and then he's pressing Mycroft against the wall, pinning him there by the shoulders. His mouth is right there, Mycroft could just lean forward and- there's no need to. Lestrade's done it, kissing him securely and Anthea was right, it does provide a sense of safety and trust, and it's warm. Lestrade's lips are cracked, tasting vaguely of cherries and menthol. All to soon though, he's pulled away.  
"Sorry, that was rude."  
"Not at all. Anthea was right about kissing you. It does make you feel safer."  
"What?"  
"Nothing. Let me buy a drink Detective."  
"If you insist." Lestrade lets himself be lead into the bar, and tonight he'll forget whatever his notions about the Holmes family was and just accept that maybe, Mycroft is his friend.


End file.
